


harry, you’re a star

by silversparrow



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 12:09:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silversparrow/pseuds/silversparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only it <i>did</i> happen, he has the half-moon scars on his back to prove it, and he can still feel Harry’s lips on his neck, his hands on his hips like they’re burned deep into his skin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	harry, you’re a star

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Killers’s _“Andy, You’re a Star”_. So I’m like the worst person when it comes to updating and I really have this thing with planning where I don’t do it, and now that the semester’s started, I can hardly put in any work in any of my outlines, coupled with the fact that NaNoWriMo’s just around the corner and I need to start gathering info and setting up the outline for that, I barely have time to breathe. I did manage to write this one because I needed to take the load off and making Niall miserable always makes me feel better. I can’t promise the next chapter of _When We Collide_ anytime soon and I apologize for making anyone wait, but I will get it out eventually if you’re still interested in reading it.

Harry’s face is glistening with sweat when he walks into the locker room, his white shirt plastered on his chest, streaked with dirt and grass stains and a few coin-sized drops of red in between, and it’s not until he comes upon his locker that Niall notices the scrape on his elbow, fairly harmless but still shining, raw.  
  
Niall tries to keep his eyes inside his own locker and he’s successful for the most part, distracting himself with the pile of dirty clothes at the bottom, his beat-up shoes in a duffel bag on his lap, and he reaches down and grabs a shirt damp with sweat, by-product of an hour of running under the sun. He’s part of the track team, and it’s not particularly special or anything, doesn’t have many wins to be compared to the basketball or football team, but everyone’s generally nice and Niall likes the feeling of wind rushing against his face, almost like he’s flying.  
  
He folds the shirt into a neat square and places it on top of his shoes before reaching down to grab his shorts, deep green with a slight rip on the side when he tripped and fell on the track a few days ago, and as he’s doing so, his eyes wander to the locker a few ways down, where he sees Harry inspecting his wound with a grimace before lifting his shirt up and over his head, exposing the body Niall’s seen before but it still makes his pulse quicken, and his head’s bombarded at once with images of warm hands and shaky breaths and bodies pressing against each other like their lives depended on it.  
  
He shifts his attention back to his clothes and closes his eyes, trying to push the thought away.  
  
It was a mistake, Harry had said, a spur-of-the-moment situation that never should have happened, something that he wished could be erased from his mind and Niall wishes he could forget about it, too, because remembering just hurt too much.  
  
He opens his eyes and folds his shorts the same way, and he piles it on top of his shirt before zipping up the bag and dropping it on the floor next to his feet. Tomorrow’s the start of a three-day weekend and Louis had taken it upon himself to try and get Niall out of his emotional slump with food and shopping, and though Niall appreciates his enthusiasm and concern, he doesn’t really want to do anything for the next three days, or the next three weeks, or ever, but he decided he should at least indulge Louis because they’re best mates and that’s what best mates do.  
  
He closes his locker and clicks the lock, and, grabbing the bag by the handles, he stands up and checks his pockets to see if he’d forgotten anything, and it’s then that he feels someone drawing near.  
  
 _“Hey.”_  
  
His shoulders tense at the sound and when he turns, his eyes land on Harry, bare-chested and lips stretched into a permanent smile.  
  
“Hi,” Niall says softly, his face getting warmer, and he can feel his heartbeat pulsating in the tips of his fingers. He hasn’t been this close to Harry since that night, so close he could see the muscles pushing against his skin as he takes short breaths, lungs still recovering from the match he played just minutes ago.  
  
“I’ve, er, I’ve just realized I forgot to pack an extra shirt today and I was wondering if you could lend me one of yours,” Harry says, and Niall tries his best not to break eye contact. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it back to you first thing next week. What do you say?”  
  
The question catches Niall off-guard and he doesn’t know what to say at first, only looks at Harry like he just said something in another language, and he shakes himself out of his stupor and tries to play it off with a smile, but it comes off wooden and forced, like he’s trying to convince himself that nothing’s changed between them, and he mellows out his expression and opens his bag to search for a shirt.  
  
“I don’t think I’ve got an extra,” Niall says after digging through the items inside and failing to find one. “Sorry.”  
  
He looks up just in time to see Harry’s face dropping in disappointment and it’s like something heavy hit him square in the chest. He doesn’t like it when Harry’s not smiling.  
  
“That’s alright,” Harry says, replacing his smile, and Niall’s envious of how easy it seems for Harry to act like everything’s fine between them, like nothing happened and it had all just been in Niall’s mind, and sometimes, he thinks that maybe it only _had_  been his imagination, that it was nothing but his sick obsession taking on a life of its own and warping his memories to the point that he actually believed that he shared a bed with Harry.  
  
Only it  _did_  happen, he has the half-moon scars on his back to prove it, and he can still feel Harry’s lips on his neck, his hands on his hips like they’re burned deep into his skin.  
  
“You can borrow this, though, if you want,” Niall says when Harry’s turning around, and he shrugs off his jumper and holds it out.  
  
Harry goes back to him and slides the garment from his hand, their fingers brushing for a split second but it’s enough to send Niall’s heart rampaging in his chest, and he feels a jolt run down his arm to his toes and he thinks it might have shown on his face because Harry’s arching his brow the next second, like he’s trying to figure him out, but he keeps his smile and puts on the jumper in one quick motion.  
  
Harry’s one of those people that look good no matter what they’re wearing, and even though the fabric stretches tight against his body when he pulls the zip up to his neck, it looks like it was tailor-made for him, fitting in all the right places, and Niall feels like a skinny, pre-pubescent boy in comparison.  
  
“Thanks, mate,” Harry says, a twinkle in his eyes.  
  
Niall pretends he didn’t see it.  
  
“No problem,” he replies, turning back to his lock and tugging at it to make sure it’s secure, and he hitches up his bag and throws one last smile at Harry, and he tries not think of the look on Harry’s eyes as he makes his way outside.  
  
  


-

  
  
“It’s not fair to you, you know?” Louis says over a cup of freshly-brewed coffee and Niall stabs the sausage on his plate for the hundredth time.  
  
It’s about eight in the morning and they’re sitting at Louis’s kitchen table, sleep still clinging to Niall’s eyes and Louis still has his pajamas on, and they had switched subjects from what they did yesterday to what happened that night so suddenly that Niall felt the whiplash on the back of his neck.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Niall replies, cutting the meat with his fork and taking it between his teeth, and Louis looks at him interestedly as he takes small sips from his mug.  
  
“I don’t get the whole thing,” he says, and he puts his mug on the table and stretches his arms out in the air. Niall chews slowly and tries to avoid eye contact. He hates when Louis fixates on something like in his gossip magazines, pesters him to no end until he gets the answers he’s looking for and Niall doesn’t have to look to see the flashbulbs exploding in his eyes.  
  
Niall’s not a celebrity and what happened between him and Harry shouldn’t be anyone’s business but their own.  
  
“Can we please drop it, Lou? I  _really_  don’t want to talk about it.”  
  
His tone’s not annoyed but it’s getting there, especially so early in the morning when the only thing he wants to do is climb back into bed and sleep the day away, and Louis almost backs off because he knows Niall, knows which boundaries to cross, but of course, him being  _Louis_ , it’s hard to turn away from something so salacious, and he keeps at it like Niall never said anything and Niall drops his fork and reaches for the mug because he knows he’s in for a long morning.  
  
“I’m just so damn  _curious_ , Ni,” he says, propping his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hand. Niall takes a large sip and feels the liquid searing his throat. “I mean, it’s  _Harry_. Never would have guessed he’d go for a bloke when there’s right fit birds basically lifting up their skirts to view at his pleasure.”  
  
“He wouldn’t,” Niall replies, keeping his face impassive. “It was a mistake, I told you.”  
  
“ _Right_.” Niall can feel him rolling his eyes. “So he  _didn’t_  enjoy it.”  
  
Niall closes his eyes and in the back of his head, he hears Harry’s moans, whispers close to his ears about how he’s never felt like this before, never done it like this and it feels good,  _he_  feels good, and Niall can’t erase the sound of his laughter, deep and rich and rife with boyish glee.  
  
“He didn’t,” Niall says, opening his eyes and pushing the mug across the table. He’s never really been into coffee. “He regretted it afterwards. We both did.”  
  
Louis grabs the handle and wraps his fingers around the ceramic. “Did you now?”  
  
Niall raises his brows at the smile snaking its way to his face.  
  
“Well, if that’s the case, then why are you still saying his name in your sleep?”  
  
  


-

  
  
Niall’s never been the shopping type, thinks it’s a waste of time and money and it’s always baffled him how Louis seems incapable of shopping for less than an hour, making sure to stop at every rack and shelf, picking out various articles of clothing and trying every single one before deciding he doesn’t like them and putting them back where he found them.  
  
Niall’s used to it, though, knows Louis really cares about looking good and keeping his wardrobe up-to-date and to be honest, he enjoys Louis’s company, likes how easily the laughs come and how he complains about the smallest of things and how he gives unwanted fashion advice to people passing by and it makes Niall feel almost _normal_  in contrast. Louis is a caricature and he embraces it, and Niall has always been into peculiar things.  
  
It’s Saturday and the shopping mall’s packed, filled to the brim with teenagers looking for the newest electronic devices or couples laughing and walking hand-in-hand, inseparable, and Niall tries to ignore them, focuses on Louis trying to figure out whether to go with the red or the blue, but there’s an emptiness in his chest that he can’t ignore, like something had eaten away at his heart and left it a shell.  
  
“Be honest,” Louis says, standing in front of Niall in a red flannel shirt with his hands on his hips. Niall tilts his head and looks him up and down, not really knowing what he’s supposed to be looking at.  
  
“It’s not terrible,” he says with a shrug, and Louis lifts an eyebrow and looks down at the shirt. “I think stripes suit you best, though.”  
  
“Well, I know  _that_ ,” Louis says, unbuttoning the shirt. “I was trying to change it up a bit.” Niall chuckles and takes the shirt when Louis hands it to him. “So that’s a yes to flannel. Let’s see…”  
  
Louis spins the rack again and Niall lets his eyes wander all around the store, picking out some clothes in the distance he might want to get for himself, and he’s about to tell Louis he’ll be right back when his eyes catch the curly mess of brown hair in the distance, and he stops in his tracks and his heart begins to race.  
  
Harry’s looking at a rack a few ways from them and Niall recognizes the jumper he lent him the day before, expression amused as he flips through the clothing, and Niall has a fleeting thought whether to go over there and say hello or stay where he is and keep watching from afar. The decision’s made for him, however, when he sees a young woman bound up to Harry like an excited puppy from one of the racks, and after giving her a kiss on her cheek, wraps his arm around her shoulders and whispers something close in her ear.  
  
Her laugh feels like razorblades in the pit of Niall’s stomach.  
  
He looks away and lets his eyes come into focus on Louis, feeling like his sternum’s been crushed in, and Louis looks up and smiles at him, but when he sees Niall’s expression, he knew something’s wrong. His eyes sweep over the shop and widen when they land on Harry, and Niall draws closer to him and folds the shirt on his arm.  
  
“We, erm, we can shop here later, yeah?” Louis says, watching Niall carefully, and Niall shakes his head and smiles.  
  
“No, it’s fine, really,” he replies. “It doesn’t matter.”  
  
“You sure mate?”  
  
Niall looks at Harry over his shoulder and he feels his pulse quicken when Harry’s eyes land on him, and when Harry nods and smiles at him, it’s like his face went numb, the muscles not really cooperating, and the last thing he sees is his smile disappearing when he turns back to Louis and holds the shirt close to his chest.  
  
“Sure.”  
  
  


-

  
  
Niall’s always been really focused when it comes to running, knows every aspect of his body, its strengths and limits, and even though he’s far from being the fastest runner in the team, he prides himself for his stamina because he spent two summers running nonstop to master his breathing and build up the leg muscles he didn’t know were there. He’s also usually conscious of his surroundings because he would always run into his teammates during practice when he was first starting out, but learned to stick to a straight line after enough yelling and threats of discharge from the coach.  
  
So it takes him by surprise when his eyes start to wander off to the bleachers and land on Harry sitting at the very front without the group of friends he’s usually with, and before he can stop himself, he trips over his own feet and skids on his hip a foot or two along the track.  
  
He hears the coach’s voice ringing in his head and he tries to ignore the sharp pain shooting through his side as he props himself up with his elbow. He looks down expecting to see a trail of blood from the point of impact but the Tartan’s clean as ever and the only casualty is a rip on the side of his shorts.  
  
“Alright, mate?” he hears someone say, though it’s not the familiar voice of any of his teammates or his friends, and when he looks up, he feels his breath hitch against his throat. Harry’s standing over him hunched slightly, extending a hand to him and he can pick out the collection of bracelets along his wrist, and at first, his mind doesn’t comprehend what’s happening, doesn’t really know what to do, but when he lifts his hand a moment later, Harry grabs it and pulls him slowly to his feet, and he feels his skin tingle with excitement.  
  
“Thanks,” he says, trying his best to avoid eye contact with Harry, his heart’s beating fast enough as it is, and he keeps his eyes to his feet like they’re the most interesting things in the world because he doesn’t want to make it seem like he’s affected by his presence like he really is.  
  
“No worries,” Harry says, voice almost tangible, and Niall picks at the rip on his shorts after failing to figure out what to do with his hands.  
  
He’s never spoken to Harry before and he’s always been awkward when it comes to talking to strangers.   
  
Then again, Harry’s not really a stranger, has been in the same school with him since primary school, and it’s not like they’re seeing each other for the first time, like they don’t know each other because he recalls back when Harry helped him pick up his books after tripping on the stairs a few years back, and he starts to wonder if he even remembers his name.  
  
He lifts his eyes and catches Harry watching him, the smile never leaving his face, and he wants nothing more than to crawl underneath the ground and stay there forever because the longer he stands there, the redder his face gets, and he tries to convince himself that it’s just the sun and he always forgets to put on sunscreen, but he’s not really fooling anyone because sunlight doesn’t make your heart feel like it’s about to explode.  
  
“It’s Niall, right?” he says, and Niall’s ears perk up at the name. It sounds odd in his voice, different almost, but it sounds nice and he likes the way it rolls of his tongue. He smiles and gives the tiniest of nods. “We see each other almost every day but we’ve hardly spoken with each other. I’m Harry.”  
  
He extends his hand and Niall only looks at it first, the thoughts running rampant through his brain, fighting for domination, before taking it in his own. For the first time that day, he feels a smile breaking out.  
  
“I know.”  
  
Harry grins. “Listen, I’ve got this party tomorrow night and I’m sick of inviting the same people. I was wondering if you’d like to go.”  
  
The question doesn’t really register at first, almost like an echo sounding out through the hollows in his head, but he sees the expectant look on Harry’s face like refusing was even an option and he feels his smile getting wider.  
  
He wouldn’t miss it for the world.  
  
“I’d love to.”  
  
Niall counts to five before Harry withdraws his hand, beaming brighter than the sun.  
  
  


-

  
  
“So what else did he say about it?” Louis asks over his box of strawberry ice cream and Niall sighs in deeply, wondering how the conversation went from discussing their ideal pets to  _this_.  
  
Niall’s always admired Louis’s determination, just like the time Niall got picked on in the playground when they were in prep school and Louis didn’t stop chasing the boys until he had given them each a good whack on the head with his shoes, but sometimes it was just too much, like he’s being suffocated, and he understands that Louis is just trying to make him feel better about the whole situation, appreciates it even because what else are best mates supposed to do, but his questions are doing anything but, making him relive that night over and over again like a broken record when all he wants to do is forget, and he digs in his own box of ice cream and crams his mouth with a hefty spoonful of chocolate vanilla swirl to drown the question out.  
  
“Did he  _like_  it at least?” Louis persists, and Niall knows he has no choice but to resign, knows that when Louis gets going, nothing can stop him, and he sticks his spoon into the block of ice cream and looks at Louis wearily.  
  
It’s about ten in the evening and they’re watching  _Forrest Gump_  on the sofa, legs tangled under the covers, and even though they’ve watched it about twenty times already, it still feels like he’s only seen snippets of it because Louis always insists on having side conversations with him, which usually ends up in long, drawn-out conversations that has nothing to do with anything and before he knows it, he’s missed the last half of the film and he’s got more questions in his head than answers.  
  
“Why are you so obsessed about it?” he asks, putting the box on the floor and sinking lower into the cushions, and Louis looks at him like the answer should be obvious, but Niall can’t really be bothered to try to figure out what’s going on in Louis’s mind and he only shrugs and pulls the covers further up his chest.  
  
“Well, it’s not like you’ve ever gone out with anyone before,” Louis replies, putting his own box of ice cream on the floor and turning his attention to the television. “Thought you were one of those… asexuals or whatever you call them.”  
  
“What’s wrong with being asexual?”  
  
Louis laughs. “Nothing. I guess I was just—I don’t know,  _excited_  when you told me. I thought that it was finally happening, you know? First love and all that. Riveting stuff.”  
  
Niall shifts his gaze from Louis and sets it on the floor, heart starting up again and he folds his arms across his chest to make it stay in place.  
  
He wasn’t sure if it was love, really, but whatever it was, it sure felt like it. Of course, he’d had crushes before, just like everyone else, but never like what he had with Harry, this almost obsessive fascination that transcends all meaning of the word and he’s sad and scared and confused because he’s not sure if he can ever move on from what happened, not sure if he can see Harry again without wanting  _more_.  
  
“I’m sorry that had to happen, mate. Nobody deserves that,” Louis says, placing a hand on Niall’s knee, eyes solemn, and Niall arches his brow because it’s not often that he gets like this, devoid of the flashiness that seems ingrained in his veins, and he’s not sure whether to be thankful or confused but he figures he should appreciate his concern either way.  
  
“It’s fine,” Niall says, folding his hand over Louis’s and giving it a light squeeze. “I thought it was finally happening, too.”  
  
  


-

  
  
Niall’s like his grandparents when it comes to parties, thinks they’re too loud and rowdy and they always end up getting out of control and he likes to keep his life low key, doesn’t really know what the appeal of drinking too much alcohol is because the images of people passed out covered in their own vomit is more than enough to turn him off the stuff. Still, he enjoys the occasional drinks at Louis’s house when he successfully sneaks out a bottle from his parents’ cupboard, but never enough that he can’t remember what happened the night before.  
  
When he stops in front of Harry’s house, he stands on the mat for a few minutes trying to figure out what he’s getting himself into.  
  
The music blares from behind the door like the place had transformed into a club overnight, and he sees shadows of people passing by, breaking the light spilling out from underneath the door.  
  
He doesn’t really know any of Harry’s friends, only knows them by reputation, never on a first-name basis because he’s never paid attention to them, felt he didn’t need to, but he’s tethering himself to Harry’s comment about not inviting the same people and maybe won’t be as bad as he thinks, just psyching himself out like he always does, and he takes a deep breath before reaching for the knob and pushing through the door.  
  
Inside, the party’s in full swing: couples making out in the corners, girls in skimpy outfits dancing to the lively music reverberating through the walls, guys with tubes stuck in their mouths, emptying out beer from what looks like an oversized funnel, and at once, Niall feels like a child who’s lost his way home.  
  
Everything’s too loud, too harsh, with mouths slick with saliva and vodka, touching and groping and punching and biting and laughing and he sticks out like a sore thumb with his collared shirt and gelled hair and he almost wants to turn back because it’s like he’s walked into a different world, somewhere he doesn’t belong, and he’s about to turn back around and go back home when he hears Harry’s voice through all the commotion, loud and clear like he’s the only person in the room, and Niall watches as he peels off the girl playing with his hair on the sofa and gets to his feet, taking languid steps over to him like he’s learning how to walk for the first time in his life.  
  
“Glad you could make it!” Harry says enthusiastically, slinging his arm around Niall’s shoulders and Niall’s pulse begins to quicken at their closeness, the feeling of Harry’s alcohol breath brushing against his ear, and he promised himself he wouldn’t be like this, not today, not with everyone watching like hawks coming in for the kill, and he feels like he’s being scrutinized through a microscope, their eyes picking at his skin bit by bit until he’s standing pink and bare and  _naked_.  
  
He feels Harry pull him closer to his chest and he wants to turn away and run the other direction.  
  
“Let’s get you something to drink, yeah?” Harry says, leading him across the living room and it’s almost like he’s hanging on Niall for support, which he doesn’t mind, really, because they’ve never been this close and he likes the smell of his cologne.  
  
They make it in the kitchen somehow and it’s not as crowded as the rest of the house, just a few people scattered here and there, one going through the fridge like he’s on a mission, another passed out on the floor next to the chairs, and Harry taps the guy on the shoulder and reaches for a bottle of beer in the back.  
  
“Nice and cold,” he says with a grin and Niall takes it with a smile, though he’s never really been fond of beer.  
  
“Nice—nice party,” he says, not knowing what to say. He’s still a bit puzzled about the whole thing, why Harry had asked him to come in the first place, how he even knows his name, but he knows he shouldn’t be questioning it, should be enjoying his company instead because it’s like he’s walked inside one of his dreams, and he wonders if it’s even real at all, that this just some sort of fantasy and he’s finally lost his grip on reality.  
  
Harry squeezes his shoulder and it brings him back to the kitchen, and without warning, he rests his forehead against Niall’s temple, nose grazing the skin on his cheek, and Niall feels himself quiver at the breath brushing against ear, and his mind starts going a hundred miles per hour because he’s not entirely sure what’s going on.  
  
“Come with me,” Harry whispers, lips dangerously close to his ears, and he can feel his heart thrashing against his ribcage like it’s trying to break free, and he turns his head and looks at Harry in the eyes, bright green and misty, ringed with red. “I want to show you something.”  
  
It’s like everything around Niall disappears and he feels Harry’s hold get tighter.  
  
“Alright.”  
  
Harry’s smile has never been wider.  
  
  


-

  
  
Niall doesn’t really understand how three days seemed to pass like hours before his eyes, almost like they never happened at all, and he walks along the hallway with his eyes downcast, still trying to blink off sleep, and he heaves a deep sigh because he’s always hated Tuesdays.  
  
He couldn’t sleep much last night, spent most of it looking at the ceiling in the dark, trying to trace out geometric patterns on the plaster because he couldn’t shake the images of Harry from his head, almost like he’s being forced to watch a slideshow in the back of his eyes, speculum and all.  
  
It still didn’t make sense, what happened, can’t even begin to draw connections between him and Harry and the more he tries to piece things together, the more confusing it gets, and he knows he should just drop it and move on because dwelling never helps anyone, if anything, only makes it worse, but it’s like his heart refuses to cooperate, almost masochistic in nature, and he hates that has to be the one to suffer the consequences.  
  
He lugs his bag all the way to his locker and slowly twists the knob, taking a moment to let his eyes come into focus on the tiny numbers littered around the rim, and it’s then that he feels a hand gripping his shoulder. His heart constricts for a moment, and he almost doesn’t turn around because he’s not ready to see his eyes again, doesn’t want to see them at all, not after seeing them a hundred times in his sleep.  
  
“You can ignore me all you want but we still have to go to class,” he hears Louis say, and he lets himself breathe and turns to look at him over his shoulder, flashing a sarcastic smile and swinging the locker door open. He goes back to the books stacked haphazardly in the rectangular compartment, pieces of paper sticking out every which way like a bomb had exploded inside, but he can’t really be bothered to worry about the mess right now, not when he feels like he’s about to fall backwards and take a long nap on the floor.  
  
“You go on, I’ll be right in,” Niall says, taking out a book and holding it against his chest, and the pressure on his shoulder disappears after a quick squeeze. He turns his head for a moment to watch Louis take long strides across the hall and smiles at the way he walks, how his hips sway punctuated from side to side, and he’s always loved that quality about him, how he doesn’t really care, how he marches to his own tune, and he guesses it’s because his personality’s too big and ostentatious to contain, a firework personified, but he wouldn’t have him any other way.  
  
He rests his hand on the door and checks his watch. Ten minutes before class begins. He closes it and shifts the weight of the bag on his shoulder before turning around and making his way to class. He’s only taken a few steps, however, when he collides with someone coming in from his right and the book flies out of his arm, sliding across the floor and coming to rest against someone’s foot, and when he searches for the person he bumped into, he finds himself staring into Harry’s eyes, and he feels his heart stop for a second before starting up again and gaining momentum.  
  
“Harry,” Niall stammers, looking at Harry with wide eyes, and Harry’s face bursts into a smile at once.  
  
“Sorry about that,” he says, and Niall sees that he’s still wearing his jumper. He feels his heart beating in his ears and swallows the lump forming in his throat. “You alright, mate? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”  
  
“Yeah,” Niall replies with a dry chuckle and he grips the strap across his chest tightly, anxiety fillings his lungs like cold water. He’s told himself a million times he should stop feeling like this, stop feeling like there’s something more to what happened between them, that if he tried hard enough, Harry would see it too, but it’s like trying to stop himself from breathing permanently, something that just won’t happen, and he forces a smile and turns his attention to the book sitting neglected on the floor a few ways from them.  
  
“Here, let me,” Harry says, walking forward and retrieving the book, and he hands it to Niall with a grin.  
  
Niall wishes he would stop.  
  
“Thanks,” he says softly, sliding the book inside his bag, and he’s just about to say goodbye when he hears something ringing in the back of his head.  
  
“Something wrong?” Harry says, eyes making out the change in Niall’s expression, and Niall shakes his head and tries to dismiss it with a smile.  
  
“I, er…” he starts, not really knowing start, and the curious look in Harry’s eyes isn’t helping. “Could I talk to you somewhere?”  
  
Harry’s eyebrow arches at the question, but he gives a shrug and a smile and Niall feels something constricting his chest.  
  
“Of course.”  
  
  


-

  
  
Niall didn’t know what to expect when he followed Harry up the stairs, couldn’t really pinpoint what his expression meant, and of course it could mean anything because he’s drunk and people say all sorts of things when they’re drunk but there’s a sense of comfort in his voice, almost like he’s lucid enough to know that this is what he wants to do, and Niall doesn’t question it, just lets Harry lead him into a room to their left when they reach the landing.  
  
When they reach the door, Harry takes him by the hand and pushes it open, and Niall knows the moment he stepped inside that this is his room. There are posters of rock bands and disbanded girl groups plastered all over the walls and it’s minimally furnished, with a desk pushed against the wall next to his bed, a simple white closet on the opposite side, a few drawers, and a computer set near the door, and Niall can’t help but smile at the tidiness, a stark contrast from Louis’s room, which always looks like a hurricane’s torn through it at any given time.  
  
“Like it?” Harry says, leading him to the bed and sitting on the edge. Niall nods and sits next to him, their thighs a hand’s width apart, and Harry leans back on his elbows and tosses his head at the ceiling. Niall looks up and sees a scale model of the solar system suspended by thin wires of different lengths, surrounded by a mass of glow-in-the-dark stickers shaped like stars. Niall turns back to Harry with a smile.  
  
“Did you make them?” he asks, keeping his hands folded primly on his lap, and Harry nods and sits up, eyes never leaving the planets.  
  
“I’m really into space and stuff. Wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid.”  
  
Niall chuckles, picturing Harry in a spacesuit and wondering how his hair would ever fit inside the helmet. “I wanted to be a veterinarian.”  
  
“I can see that,” Harry says, grinning at him, and he lies flat on his back and rests his hands under his head, looking at Niall wistfully with his glossy eyes. “You’ve got real pretty eyes, you know?”  
  
Niall’s chest starts to pound, face getting hotter as the seconds pass, and he’s not quite sure how to respond, didn’t really see it coming and it’s like he’s momentarily lost the ability to speak, and he clears his throat and tries to calm his breathing because it’s coming out more rugged and strained than he wants it to be.  
  
“What?” he asks meekly, gripping the duvet between his thighs, and Harry just smiles like what he said wasn’t anything out of the ordinary and props himself up on his elbows again, looking at Niall square in the eyes, and Niall wants to look away, wants to get up and leave because there must be something wrong with the picture, he can feel it in his bones, but it’s like he’s paralyzed and all he can do is look back, blue eyes swimming in green, and his heart rampages against his ribcage, feeling like it’s about to burst.  
  
“Can I kiss you?” Harry asks carefully, and Niall’s not sure how much more he can take, wants more than anything to know what’s going on in Harry’s mind, and he grips the duvet tighter until his knuckles turn white and swallows dryly, forehead already beading with sweat. Harry leans forward until they’re a few inches apart and Niall can feel his breath brushing against his lips, warm and thick with alcohol, and he starts feeling light-headed, like he’s about to pass out from the heat and the surge of emotions tearing through his body, but he gives the tiniest of nods at the last second and he sees Harry’s face break into a wide grin before pressing their lips together, a hand twining with Niall’s between his thighs, the other reaching up to cup his cheek, pushing him closer.  
  
Niall’s never kissed anyone before and he never really gave it much thought, sort of just brushed it off to the side because he knows he’s got some time in his hands and he’s not the type of person to rush into things too quickly, but there’s something about Harry’s lips against his that makes him feel like he’s about to float into space, tethered only by their hands, and it’s beautiful and it’s right and it’s the best he’s ever felt in his life.  
  
The kiss lasted only a few seconds but it felt like an eternity, and when Harry pulls back, Niall opens his eyes and tries to make sense of it all, tries to memorize the look of happiness in Harry’s eyes, and before he knew it, Harry’s leaning forward and gives him another kiss, pushing him down softly on the bed and reaching their hands over their heads.  
  
Niall loses all concept of time and Harry breaks the kiss again and sits up, straddling him, and Niall watches eagerly as he pulls off his shirt and tosses it to the side. He slides his hands under Niall’s shirt and his breath hitches in his throat because it’s the first time he’s been felt like this, warm hands scoping out every inch of his body like tracing out countries in a map, and every touch feels like wildfire spreading on his skin, searing him down to the core, and he tries to master the indecent look on his face but it doesn’t work, the pleasure too strong to contain, and Harry manages to get their clothes off into a messy heap on the floor in a matter of seconds.  
  
Niall takes this time to look at Harry’s body, watching the muscles working under his skin as he takes slow, dragged-out breaths, and he reaches forward and runs his fingers along his stomach, feeling the dips and contours and the tiny hairs under his navel. It’s almost a work of art, Harry’s body, slim and well-defined compared to his own, and he smiles when Harry lowers his head and trails a kiss from his forehead down to his cheeks, to his neck, his stomach, and when Harry takes him completely, he feels a tremor course through his body and he grips the edges of the bed as tight as his hands can take, and he bites his bottom lip when he feels a scream of ecstasy pushing its way out of his throat.  
  
Harry lifts his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and Niall watches him run his hands under his thighs through half-lidded eyes, slowly raising his legs in the air and letting them come to rest on his shoulders.  
  
“I’ll go slowly, alright?” Harry whispers, and Niall’s never felt this exposed, this bare in front of anyone before and he’s not entirely sure he’s ready just yet, but the look on Harry’s eyes tells him everything’s going to be fine, that he can trust him, and he takes a deep breath, grips the pillow tight under his head, and closes his eyes.  
  
“Alright.”   
  
  


-

  
  
It all seems too familiar when Niall follows Harry across the hallway, just a step behind, and he sees people watching them from the corners of his eyes as they pass by, but the more he tries to push them out of his mind, the deeper they dig into his skin, and he holds his bag tighter as they turn the corner and approach the stairs leading to the second floor.  
  
“Something on your mind?” Harry says, stopping next to the railing and stuffing his hands in his pocket. Niall tries to get his bearings and takes a deep breath, heart refusing to simmer down and he starts to feel silly when he feels his face getting hotter despite the cool air wafting around them.  
  
“I—I just wanted to talk about that night,” Niall starts, shifting his gaze to his shoes. “You know, the party?”  
  
He hears Harry chuckle and he lifts his head just in time to see him scratching the back of his head.  
  
“I thought we agreed not to talk about that anymore,” Harry says with a laugh, and his tone isn’t annoyed, no trace of malice, but Niall feels like he’s crossed a boundary and he starts to feel guilty, almost, because they  _had_  agreed not to speak of it again, promised to keep it a tight-lipped secret in the off-chance that someone might overhear.  
  
“I know,” Niall says softly, focusing on his feet again and he starts to feel stupid, like a child who can’t take a hint, and he taps his foot on the floor when he feels anxiety crawling through his body.  
  
“But if it means that much to you,” Harry says, placing a hand on his shoulder, and Niall looks up and sees that smile again, small and sympathetic, and it makes his pulse quicken even more, “I guess we can talk about it.”  
  
Niall tries to force a smile but it comes out contrived, insincere, and he clears his throat and picks at the strap across his chest, trying to come up with the best way to start.  
  
“I… I know it was a mistake, what happened. I know that. But I don’t really understand _why_  it happened.”  
  
Harry scratches his head again and rests his other hand on his hip.  
  
“I was drunk, Niall. I wasn’t thinking clearly. You know how it is when you’ve had one too many. Everything just makes sense then, even if it doesn’t when you wake up in the morning.”  
  
Niall tries to keep his emotions contained, tries not to think of the way he felt when Harry held him through the night, the way he looked at him like he was the only person in the world, and despite what his mind’s telling him, that it was all just happenstance with no substance behind it, in his heart, he feels that something _clicked_  between them, whether Harry wants to accept it or not.  
  
“But why me? Why now?” he says, trying to keep his tone neutral, but there’s a hint of desperation coating every letter and Harry looks at him in confusion, brows drawn together in thought. Niall watches him expectantly.  
  
“I—I don’t know,” Harry says, defeated, dropping his eyes and jamming his hands deep in his pocket. “I’m not really sure why. I was confused and—and I wasn’t sure whether I liked girls or guys and I don’t know, I guess I wanted to try both and, you know, settle it once and for all.”  
  
Niall feels like he’s been hit with a sledgehammer in right in his chest.  
  
“I was just an experiment?” Niall asks, not wanting to believe it, but there’s a finality in Harry’s expression that makes his heart sink, makes him feel like he’s getting smaller and smaller in front of his eyes and all of a sudden, he feels his hands shaking, breaths coming in more shaky, eyes misting over like he’s standing under the rain, and he hates the look of pity washing over Harry’s face, doesn’t want it because it makes him feel worse than he already does.  
  
“No, Niall,  _please_ ,” he says, walking closer and putting his hands on his shoulders. “Please don’t do that. I—It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I didn’t mean for it to end up this way and I’m—I’m  _so_  sorry, Niall. I really am.”  
  
Niall shakes his hands off and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand before the tears started falling, and he takes a few steps back and takes a deep breath, tells himself that he’s being an idiot crying over nothing, that he’s stronger than this, but it’s like his heart’s shattered like glass in his fingers and it makes it hard to keep it in, not when it’s been tormenting him for the past few days like a dark cloud hanging over his head.  
  
“I really am sorry, mate,” Harry says, and Niall watches him take his jumper off and hold it out to him. “Here. Thanks for letting me borrow it. I promise I’ll make it up to you somehow.”  
  
Niall looks at the garment through glassy eyes and slides it from Harry’s fingers.  
  
“Listen, I’ve got to get to class,” he continues with a tender smile, and Niall wishes he can wipe it off from existence. “It’ll be the third time in a row I’ll be late if I don’t start walking. I’ll… I’ll just see you around, yeah?”  
  
He doesn’t wait for Niall to respond and he pats his shoulder a few times before making his way past him and down the hall, and Niall’s left standing next to the stairs like he’s just lost something important, like he’s lost a piece of his body and there’s no way to replace it, and he wipes his eyes with his sleeve and tries to breathe through the sobs pushing out of his throat. He feels numb, like he doesn’t exist, and he looks at the jumper in his hand and presses it against his nose, inhaling the familiar scent of Harry’s cologne, and he closes his eyes and sees himself on the bed in Harry’s arms, legs twined under the duvet, feeling the soft heartbeat on his back, and it seems like a fairytale, almost, something like a distant memory, and he lets a tear fall when he realizes that none of it meant anything at all.  
  
He folds the jumper on his arm and makes his way to his classroom, giving Louis a grin when he sees him waiting just outside the door, and Louis doesn’t have to ask to know that something’s wrong. It surprises him, though, when Louis  _doesn’t_  ask, just looks at him with an expression that tells him everything’s going to be okay, and Niall knows that it will be, someday, and Louis gives his shoulder a pat before leading him inside the classroom and telling him about the television show he missed last night as they make their way to their desks, and Niall listens and laughs and holds the jumper tightly in his hand, remembering the warmth of Harry’s breath on his ear when he whispered  _“I’ll never let you go”_  before they drifted off to sleep.


End file.
